love

As we come upon the anniversary of the game changing Women’s March, I am in awe of what transpired over the last year. The most curious thing of all is what I found so despicable about our elected leader of the free world was, in fact, a very odd blessing. Light was cast on the dark shadows lurking around for so long. Not all my friends might agree with me or hold similar views, but it’s quite hard to ignore what happened over the year. #MeToo, #TimesUp, and Oprah’s amazing speech at the Golden Globes.

The times they are a-changin’.

One year ago my husband and I marched in Boston. It was nothing short of transformative. First, that my man went with me (he got into designing posters and he even gave one away to a mother and her kid on the subway so she’d have something). Second, that we became part of a peaceful tribe 175,000 strong, forming a “radical kinship” as Father Greg Boyle likes to say. Third, that we took tons of selfies together and sent them to our daughters—not only so they can confirm how their “awkward” parents are, but to see their core values in action (and what a good guy is all about).

I still have our posters in the family room and will dust them off this weekend. I didn’t get my hand-knitted pussy hat in time for last year’s march, but that hat has not seen the dust. I still wear it—and I will as long as it’s cold outside and this president is in office.

It’s not a time to be complacent. It’s a time to address the dark side with a legion of light workers. It’s not a comfortable time and nor should it be. We need to feel irritated enough to take action. The other day I was clearing my office and out of a book fell a prayer card my mother had given one of my girls: Joan of Ark. How apt! The Novena begins: “Glorious St. Joan of Arc, filled with compassion for those who invoke you, with love for those who suffer, heavily laden with the weight of my troubles I kneel at your feet and humbly beg you to take my present need under your special protection.” The image on the front is of the armoured French girl of the 1400s, a spiritual warrior across the ages, holding her flag and sounding the call for compassion, social justice and new leadership. I believe Joan of Arc is at our sides protecting us and emboldening us right now, but mostly we have each other. Saints, angels, whistle blowers, courageous women and men… and those contrarian naysayers, too. We all belong. And we all need to evolve humanity. We can do better.

Be a kindness warrior.

My protest sign last year was on kindness. It’s been my calling and so I’ve been studying it, collecting science and story. The basis for my upcoming book has been the view that kindness is strong, not weak. It is courageous, not cowardly. It is heartful, not heartless. It’s not about being nice, agreeable, or virtuous. It’s about understanding, having boundaries, and taking reasonable action. It’s moving from empathic distress to motivational empathy. Taking a kind stance doesn’t mean giving in. One of the protest slogans seen all over the world last year was: “Feel the Rage, Be the Love.” These six small words perfectly capture both the challenge and the solution when facing difficult persons, places, or things. The meditation teacher Sharon Salzberg asks, “Why can’t we both love and resist at the same time?” This is a perfect question for our life and our times, and it forms the basis for reimagining kindness.

We all have something to stand for. For me it’s giving kindness the gravitas it deserves in the landscape of humanity. After all, we can’t survive without it. I invite you to join me. How are you going to rock your world with kindness?

We were out for a brief Sunday drive. My 16 year old was proudly behind the wheel getting in some road time. The local pop station was playing and she was humming a tune. Then we heard the announcement about the Orlando mass shooting. In unison, we both drew in a loud breath as our hands leapt to our mouths.

No. No. No. No. No.

Here we are again. Here we ALL are again. Aurora. Boston. Columbine. Newtown. San Bernardino. Virginia Tech. It’s times like these that we need to take a pause. A pause to not only to register such horrific events and the fragility of life, but to truly appreciate all the good we have in our lives – and the good we can give to others with courage, kindness, gratitude and care through social action. We are part of a larger humanity in which there is much more love than hate. It’s up to us to prove it.

And if we needed anything else to bring us to tears Sunday it was the compassionate sonnet for Orlando delivered by Lin-Manuel Miranda in his acceptance speech for a Tony award for the best original score for the smash musical Hamilton.

“When senseless acts of tragedy remind us that nothing here is promised, not one day / This show is proof that history remembers / We live through times when hate and fear seem stronger / We rise and fall / and light from dying embers remembrances that hope and love last forever / Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love cannot be killed or swept aside.”

My daughter turned 14 on Marathon Monday in Boston. Every year her birthday also falls on a school vacation week. As she’s gotten older, this reality has gone from the anticipation of egg hunts to disappointment when all her friends are away. Not to mention that last year we were in a surreal citywide lock down after the bombings.

So, this year was special indeed. We spent it at the Boston Marathon.

Redemption. Forgiveness. Compassion. It was all there. We could have opted out. High security. Large crowds. Nervous peeps. But we chose to participate. And am I ever so happy we did.

We had five young teen girls in tow. We scored a spot in Kenmore Square, between mile 25 and 26. My older daughter was at Hereford Street with her friends – just at the turn of the finish line – with a mom who cried every time a wheelchair team passed by.

I think there are relatively few experiences in life that makes an impression like a community coming together with compassionate purpose. Over 32K runners and a million strong along the sidelines from Hopkinton to Boston, all cheering like mad. You could feel the energy and good will. For me, it restored faith in the greater good of humanity.

I thought about the work in compassionate conversations. Dr. Andrew Newberg and Mark Robert Waldman, whose work I can’t put down, describes the way we communicate with one another can fundamentally change the brain. I thought, “Whoa, what kind of ‘neural resonance’ might be happening along the Boston Marathon route?”

They write that, “kindness builds cooperation and cooperation builds a better brain.” Let’s hope we sprouted a few more compassionate circuits by witnessing this race!

Even more so, the outpouring of support represented for me meaning making at the societal level. When people stand up for what they believe in, life has purpose. Nobody knows what the personal values of the people on either side of us might be, but it brought them to the marathon.

Newberg and Waldman write: “Even though everyone has a unique set of values – running the spectrum from highly idealistic principles like truth, integrity and growth, to highly interpersonal values like love, family and friendship – when people openly share their values with each other, they come together and express mutual support.”

With Boston Strong slogans everywhere, there was certainly a sense of camaraderie. But more than that there was a resilient sense of respect, awe and love – it was ten people deep on both sides of a 26.2 mile stretch.

I believe the 2014 Boston Marathon will leave an impression of a lifetime on my daughters. We saw the elite runners, the dad of one girl in our tween entourage and scores of people from all walks of life and all abilities. A blind man. A pregnant woman. Survivors from last year’s bombing in wheelchairs. The National Guard in combat boots. Team Hoyt. The runners for the foundation created in memory of little Martin Richard, MR8. Runners from Germany, Mexico, Chicago, and San Diego, Canada. Thousands upon thousands of runners and many more spectators. Truly Impressive.

And then the next day, my newly minted 14-year-old ran 3 miles across town.

This is one of those way way back stories. It takes place in a small family room set up for my sister and me. It was a nook of sorts and had a black and white TV. Family lore has it that my first words were “I Love Lucy!” learned in that very space. There is no doubt in my mind that this could have been true. After all it was once a place where our family of four gathered to watch the Ricardo’s antics with reverence. It was the last place we could be found together before my parents finally divorced.

It was also the “playroom” where we played with dolls, built blanket forts, and colored. One day I was there with my best friend, Heidi. My first true friend. I met her at kindergarten orientation with Ms. Francin. We were paired together and it turned out we both lived along winding Old West Mountian Road. Later it was her dear family who showed me a different kind of home life.

This one day Heidi and I had gleefully discovered a new painting technique. We dipped our brushes in the murky watercolor set and whipped them. Back and forth, back and forth. We splattered tiny rainbow polka dots over the white sheets of paper in front of us. It was thrilling.

I didn’t learn of Jackson Pollock until I was grown up and every time I see a painting of his I think back to that fateful day. It resulted in one of my first clear memories of shame. My mother came in with a look of horror, followed by a litany of screams and German cuss words. She pulled me aside and spanked me in front of my new friend. I was confused. I was red hot. Heidi froze in place. When I looked at the wall behind me I discovered that we had indeed “ruined” the walls. I instantly felt like I was a terrible little girl for having spoiled something of value belonging to someone I loved. And I had an unwitting accomplice.

The artist in me shut down.

Toward the end of the 6th grade, when I was about 11, we had to try out for the junior high chorus. I had loved singing as a young child. Apparently, I could blurt out the German lyrics of many a childhood lullaby. But I had become a shy girl in public. There were too many problems at home. Heidi had moved far away the year before. And while the school day was a reprieve, I held my breath for most of it. I barely spoke in school and when I was asked to sing a song in the concrete corridors of Barlow Mountain Elementary School – just in front of the gym doors where others could hear me – I became mute. The next year I ended up in music appreciation class with 20 obnoxious boys.

The singer in me shut down.

When I was in my first college English class I wrote a personal essay of what I thought was the triumph of overcoming the hardship of my postwar upbringing and of being the first child in my extended family to go to college. The classic story of a first generation American. The teacher gave me a C+ and told me visit the counseling and writing centers. It was the C+ that crushed me.

The writer in me shut down.

My childhood experiences are not uncommon. So many of us know intimately the empathic failures of the adults in our world. (Forgive them for they no know what they do). My mother was not a mean person. She was overwhelmed. The chorus judges were not bad people. The English teacher was green and didn’t know what to do once he got piles of personal stories. But who has that perspective as a kid?

Every one of us has closed off part of our selves because we learn in many small ways over a long time that who we are is never good enough. We have learned the language of comparison, judgment and perfectionism.

Yet I know that the little artist in me had some sense that I had self-worth for I grew up to love art and fashion. I know the singer in me has not died for my crooning in church moves me to tears – even if I get choked up and can only finish a hymn in a whisper. I know the writer in me lives in some small and big ways for I would not have been able to dabble with this blog or write a dissertation.

Now that I have my own girls I am mindful of my words and actions on their vulnerable hearts – I know I have failed them and will fail them. I also know something else. It is my instinct to nurture them the best way I know how. But it is a gift to also care for the child within myself even as I age. How can I not see my younger selves when I see my girls at their tender ages? It’s inevitable. For all the hurts I may have endured, something far greater and more beautiful persists. That is the courage to create, the willing to sing out of tune, and the commitment to speak my truth – on paper, in person, in prayer. I practice compassion for that shy, yet feisty girl.

A brave girl.

I bring her with me and let her know that all is well. I love her. She has been a great teacher. I carry her on my shoulders in triumph and together we go forth with whole hearts.

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It is a privilege and a gift to be a candidate in Brené Brown’sThe Daring Way™method, a training and certification program for helping professionals who want to facilitate Brené Brown’s work on vulnerability, courage, shame, and worthiness. We are a community of wholehearted practitioners who believe in the power of owning our stories, and who recognize that vulnerability is our most accurate measure of courage.

Additional Resource:

Download Dr. Brown’s Parenting Manifesto. Read it (1) for yourself as a parent and (2) in parenting your inner child.

In the midst of one sad, tragic or harsh news story after another we all need to hear something good. You know, a feel good story that makes your heart burst with glee?

Here’s a story about compassion and the healing powers of community in action. It’s a story to share with family and friends. On Friday, the Make a Wish Foundation of the Greater Bay Area turned San Francisco into Gotham City and gave a little boy named Miles a fantasy of a his lifetime: A day as BatKid. The story speaks for itself (ABC, Sky 7 video). Over 10,000 people mobilized for this five-year-old in remission from leukemia.

The city got swept up with this event.

Before: Miles thought he was going to San Francisco to get a Batman costume with his parents.

I have an overscheduled family and work life. Sometimes it seems like we all we do is pass one another in the doorways. Or else we are carting a bunch of girls around – soccer fields, sport centers, gymnastic meets and last minute soccer tourneys. Not to mention seeing clients, trying to grow a business, and remembering to give hubby a hug in passing. “Great job. You’re a great dad!”

Instead of resolutions for a new year, I decided to do more of a “reflect and reset.” Reset the pace of life; re-evaluate my aspirations; and reflect on all I have to be thankful for. As I began to jot things down, I realized I was creating a series of guideposts to remind me of what works, instead of all the things I need to change, improve, or achieve. So whenever I feel really irritated or want to throw in the towel and run away from it all, I can remind myself of some tried and true principles.

1. Breathe

2. Practice Gratitude

3. Yoga

4. Dress in Comfy, Soft Clothes

5. Adorn Self with Affirmations

6. Journal

7. Track Your Periods

8. Go Outside

9. Snack on Protein Snacks & Drink Water

10. Tidy Office = Clear Mind

11. Fresh Flowers

12. Generosity

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1. Breathe

This may seem obvious, but if I find myself in a frenzy – mentally or physically – it usually means my breathing is short and stuck in my upper chest. If I stop for a moment I can hear my heart revving on this low-grade but rapid vibration. This kind of breathing can easily launch a sense of panic. So I take a mini meditation with slow deep breaths: count to 10 on the in breath and count to 11 on the out breath. (It helps to have the out breath a tad longer.)

Yet, if I get impatient with myself in this exercise I tend to use words. Sometimes I even hum a refrain I picked up in a church.

When I breathe in, I breathe in peace.

When I breathe out, I breathe out calm.

I might change the out breath to the word “love” if I’m particularly annoyed with a family member – usually my mother or my spouse. A loving kindness breathing mediation can have an immediate, positive effect. Of course, this is something I teach to clients. But if I don’t practice it myself, I’m just a fraud. And frauds are easy to snuff out.

2. Practice Gratitude

The essence of a gratitude practice came to me later in life. Having been raised in the Catholic tradition, the practice was to thank God, ask for forgiveness for sins, and do good deeds to avoid hell at all costs. It was shame, fear and guilt-based. It’s still alive and well in my family of origin and the childhood effects resurface now and again. Nurturing gratitude takes daily practice.

Feeling gratitude is the seed for cultivating joy and being aware of life’s gifts when they are right in front of you. A gratitude practice attunes my mind to the momentary delights in the midst of busy, chaotic or difficult circumstances – like the three snow angels I saw the other night from the second story of our house, sparkling under the light and shadow of a full moon. It was totally unexpected and took my breath away. Moments like that remind me of my children, of the joy of childhood, of play, and of sheer delight of the season’s first snow and crisp winter skies.

Just writing about it makes me feel joy. Writing down these moments is a good practice. Gratitude journals have become popular because we need the physical tools of pen, paper or keyboard to make the experience tangible – otherwise the beautiful moments
will crumble to dust.My younger daughter, Josie, and I had such a moment recently. The others were away (soccer, of course) and we decided to build a fire together. Kids love building fires. So primal is the activity of fire making, I let her set it up and strike the match. Then we pulled out our journals and color pencils and enjoyed the quite time. Moments like these are sustaining and inoculate against daily hassles of life.

3. Yoga

I’ve been an avid yoga lover for over 25 years. I’ve tried many brands of yoga and at this stage in my life have settled on heated vinyasa flow. I’m sure I will change type of yoga when peri-menopause hits. It took a while to adapt to 90-degree temperature in the studio, but I love it. Anything less feels cold to me now. The heat forces me to breathe deep and slow (see #1). The postures are like a meditative dance, which appeals to my love of ballet as a child and to my sense of aesthetic. Sometimes, just being in a child pose is so utterly healing I could weep from relief.

Yoga is a beautiful practice no matter what a person’s size, shape or body type. The practice of yoga nurtures inner beauty. On the days I’m up for an advanced power class, I get in a pretty good low-impact aerobic workout, too. I feel detoxified and cleansed. I believe yoga is why I look younger than my age. On occasion, when I do reveal my age, people are surprised. “Well done!” a friend exclaimed to me when she learned I was five years older not younger than she. But the answer to youthfulness is easy for me: decent genes and diet, being wrinkled-free from sun deprivation in New England … and regular yoga.

4. Dress in Comfy, Soft Clothes

We snuggle our babies in the most luxurious of fleeces,cottons and awesome textile blends that didn’t exist when I was a babe. Why don’t we grownups wear similar fabrics? When clothes are tight, sloppy, or scratchy, so are we. For some time now, I’ve been wearing a combination of bootleg yoga pants, dresses by Karina Designs (“Dresses for Every Body”) and a soft flowy sweater. This has several advantages:

I feel like I’m in pajamas all day and therefore in a relaxed state of mind. I’m geared up to have coffee at the last minute with a colleague and be respectably fashionable with little effort. And most importantly, I’m in a prime position to hop into a yoga class whenever my schedule or my girls’ schedule allows. (I have a yoga mat in each one of the family cars, too). The other advantage to such attire should it lead to a yoga class is that I get in deep breathing (#1), opportunity for gratitude for getting to a class (#2) and a work out (#3).

5. Adorn Self with Affirmations

Yes, WEAR positive quotes on your body. In addition, to #4, I’m a big believer in inspirational t-shirts and jewelry. For starters, having a word or phrase to look at gets me outside of my head and the all consuming to-do lists. For years I had a silver bangle engraved with the affirmation: Live with intention. I left it on a sink counter of an airport after washing my face from a red eye trip. I didn’t realize the loss until later. At first I was crushed. Like Wonder Woman, the bangle was my secret body armor!! Then I realized that another woman would likely find it – and just maybe it would be what she needed at that moment. Maybe it would even change her life in some positive way. You never know. I was grateful I could pass it on (see #2 & 12).

It’s helpful to say affirmations that may be difficult to embrace but they can be maifested over time:

I am enough.

I am beautiful just the way I am.

Sometimes we need the permanence of a positive declaration lest we forget. My sister-in-law, the dress designer mentioned above (and hence my acqusitions of glorious easy dresses that never wrinkle) – well, she has a beautiful tattoo around her wrist: Love is all there is. Similarly, my sister has a delicate, winged cherub on her shoulder that is easily donned in the sunny climate of Southern California. I prefer uplifting mood bling that I can change up with my comfy attire (#4).

6. Journal

Write something every day. Writing helps one purge the gobly gook that piles up in the conscious and subconscious mind. Releasing this personal content can unleash surprising things. You may find yourself writing a list that turns into a haiku, or start to think of a memory, or solve a problem you see in new way. (James Pennebaker, PhD, has studied and written extensively on the health benefits of writing about personal challenges and trauma.)

Writing is a hard practice for me. I’ve been locked into academic writing that rarely allows for unbridled creativity or self-indulgence. I tend to self-edit and judge. I heard Natalie Goldberg at a workship once, author of Writing Down the Bones. She said:

Write what you know. Even if is the teacup in front of your nose.

What do you notice about the cup? The color, the shape?

What does the tea smell like? How does it make you feel?

What does it remind you of?

There is no shortage of things to write about.

Writing is meditation. It’s one activity I’m really going work on this year. No judgment, no self-editing. See what gets churned up.

This reminds me of a quip in yoga that I really love, “No mud, no lotus. “ It stems from the writing of Thich Nhat Hanh. It is part of a beautiful meditation on the necessity of dealing in the hard stuff in life in order to see the beauty. Writing can help with that. Wade in the mud until the glorious pure lotus flower sprouts through. I might need to get some bling with this saying on it. It may be my new mantra this year (see #5).

7. Track Your Periods

Ok, this is for ladies, obviously. But guys should pay rapt attention. This is a topic that needs more attention at some point. Now that I have two girls in various stages of pubertal development all hell has broken loose. Let the cycling begin. Moods can run amok and sometimes we just don’t know why.

Tracking periods is a practical matter that will do more for peace of mind and self-compassion than one might realize. Tracking one’s menstrual cycle is a like a broadcast storm watch. It means you need know when to stock up on supplies and ibuprofen or ferrofood, stay home or go easy on the schedule, and get in extra sleep. As for myself, having worked in the area of women’s health for years, I am amazed at the lack of attention to such a major self-care issue. Chalk it up to a complete failure of the health and sex education in our country. Hormones are a MAJOR part of girls and women’s lives and we collectively ignore or deny menstruation, the apparent nuisance of it, the cultural shame of it. All the negative associations of the female cycle have turned a basic bodily process into a taboo or else reduced to a joke.

Instead, honoring the cycle and knowing when your peek crankiness may be, or when other irritations may arise (headaches, cramps), is one key to self-care. There are two days a month where I could just weep at the slightest trigger: a diaper commercial or the food left out on the table; or I want to ram into the student driver barring my race to pick up a child; and sometimes I even feel like it’s time for a divorce. It can be extreme, comical and totally unfair to others. (SeeModern Family for a hilarious sketch on monstration: the “Leap Day” episode. Some feminists and reviewers weren’t happy about it, but I was glad to see the topic hit prime time in a fresh way.)

Whatever the situation, when it comes to periods, the symptoms can be irksome and the emotional consequences totally irrational – but the upside is that it’s mostly predictable. Tracking makes self-care manageable. Plus, if a cycle is off or symptoms change, then there is cause for more mindful attention. I know I need to stay away from fatty foods, chocolate, hot yoga, the news and the state of my daughters’ rooms. It’s also best to give by husband fair warning not to take anything too personal.

Of course, there are phone apps to help a girl track her period if writing (#6) doesn’t work. So there’s no excuse not to use an app.
It’s the cool method of endless persoanlization these days. There just needs to be a family version with push notifications, so others can be altered when to be kind and stay out of the way. Tracking also can help with romance and sex life. Some things are just good to know about, ya know? I think this would help a lot of marriages. Flowers would help, too (See #11).

8. Go Outside

Since both my husband and I work at home there can be days that I might never leave the premise unless there is a carpool or a meeting in town. Most New Englanders have a vitamin D deficiency and getting some sunlight for a good 20 minutes can do wonders for the spirit. Short of a Happy Light at the desk, going outside allows 20 minutes to get in #1, #2, and possibly #3 if you’re into doing a sun salutation or striking a warrior pose (both good heart openers). Plus, if you have adopted #4 and are wearing comfy clothes, all you need to do is put on good walking shoes and some extra layers if needed.

You can also expand your sky awareness by spending 20 minutes a day looking up, which can change your inner and outer perspectives on life. But be sure wear light colors in the summer and fall months. The reason I discovered my vitamin D deficiency was a mistake made by a lab that was supposed to test me for Lime disease after a tick bite. Wrong test, but interesting result. Guess where ticks like to snuggle up? Under the waistband of LuLu Lemon yoga pants. (Fair warning.)

9. Snack on Protein Snacks

I’m not the three-meals a day type of person, although I like a decent breakfast. Rather I’m the type that could go for hours without food until I realize I haven’t eaten by way of a headache or bad mood. Trail mix, nuts, berries, and yogurt do the trick. Keeping fueled is important. This had been a challenge since I have a kid with peanut, tree nut and soy allergies (of the serious Epi-pen PRN variety). So we’ve been nut free for years. But she’s old enough now to know what foods to stay away from and nuts have cautiously reentered our household. The other challenge is I don’t like to drink water. It’s hard for me to ever get in the recommended 64 ounces a day. I’d be peeing all day long. But guess what? Hot yoga forces me to drink plenty of water before, during and after class.

10. Tidy Office = Clear Mind

I’m so sensitive to my environment. I have a high sense of aesthetics. I am prone to dust and mold allergies. I need light. I need quiet. My office is a sacred place for me and my clients. So if my desk or office is at all cluttered, it’s like there is a slow tightening noose around my neck and I can’t breathe (#1). Seeing clients forces me to tidy up but sometimes I have to cheat and shove things to piles or into in closet, and I may not get back to them for weeks or months. That is bad, bad, bad. I will spend endless wasted time looking for a phone number, an article, or an important school permission slip. Take time to clear the clutter.

11. Fresh Flowers

I always say fresh flowers are the cheapest antidepressant available over the counter. (Well, a flower bunch and yoga class go for about $12 each. What a deal given the half-life!)Seriously, having living, breathing flowers in a garden or on a kitchen table or desk does one thing: makes you smile. When you smile your facial muscles spread wide, which messages to the brain’s neurotransmitters that

something wonderful is happening and sprinkles your system with endorphins. Smiling makes you happy. You can just practice smiling for no reason and the effect will be similar. Also, when you are happy you have something to be grateful for (#2). You may even want to breathe in the fragrance of a flower (#1), which helps dissipate the stress cortisol hormones that have built up. As mentioned, flowers can also help with girly issues in #7.

12. Generosity

Give flowers to a friend. Or help someone in need. Say “thank you” or “you look beautiful today.” It’s the small things that matter. It’s as simple as that. Love is the way.

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I’m sure I’ll think of other things and you may have suggestions, too. I can already think of taking bathroom breaks and balancing a checkbook as possible additions.